


The Eloquence of Flowers

by MxTicketyBoo



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Food Service, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Ashe is Awkward, Ashedue Week (Fire Emblem), Attempt at Humor, Awkwardness Abounds, Blushing, Confessions, Crushes, Cute, Dedue is Awkward, Flowers, Fluff, Food, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Language of Flowers, M/M, Modern Royalty, Mutual Pining, Pining, Waiters & Waitresses, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23512363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxTicketyBoo/pseuds/MxTicketyBoo
Summary: When Ashe gets around to clearing the table after Dedue leaves, he finds something unexpected: two long-stemmed flowers lie across the check holder, bound together by a simple white ribbon.---Or: The modern AU in which restaurant server Ashe quietly pines after the crown prince’s personal protection officer and discovers perhaps his feelings aren’t unrequited after all.Ashedue Week 2020.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 17
Kudos: 68





	1. Ranunculus

**Author's Note:**

> Initially I started this fic with the prompt for day 2 of Ashedue week (modern AU) in mind. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but it actually fits a few of the other prompts this week too (flowers, confession, and mutual pining), so I think I'll just declare this fic my overall contribution to the entirety of Ashedue week! :D
> 
> Also, I’m researching the meaning of flowers, but I def do not claim to be an expert on the topic. Please excuse any mistakes.
> 
> Note: Dimitri’s father is still alive and king in this AU. The royal family exists in Faerghus, but in a purely constitutional and ceremonial role. Like the monarchy in the UK, they have a whole fleet of officers tasked with their protection 24/7/365.

“You should go out there and say something to him.” 

Ashe nearly jumps out of his skin at the unexpected voice next to his ear. He spins around to find his fellow servers, Sylvain and Ingrid, lounging against the counter of the coffee bar, apparently watching him as he watches the man outside.

“Seriously,” Ingrid says, “I’ve had about all the lovelorn pining I can stand. And you know he knows you’re staring at him, right?”

Ashe blinks at her. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, Ashe.” Sylvain comes closer and slings an arm around his shoulders. “Old buddy, old pal, I hate to break it to you, but we’ve all seen Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome in the paparazzi pics. He’s clearly part of Prince Dimitri’s security team, what with how he’s always looming stone-faced in the background of every candid shot they put on the gossip blogs.” He squeezes Ashe to his side and turns him once again to the front window of Verona’s, through which they can see the small table where Dedue Molinaro sits eating his lunch. “Do you think a man with the skillset required to be a royal protection officer _wouldn’t_ notice when he’s being observed?”

Ashe feels his face heat. “Oh goddess.”

“Just slip him your phone number on his receipt,” Sylvain says slyly. “That’s like the first step in the food service flirting handbook.”

“But it feels so forward,” Ashe protests. “I don’t even know if he likes me.”

Annette pops around the corner and shoos them out of the way so she can get to the espresso machine. “I think he does,” she says to Ashe over her shoulder. “I told you how disappointed he looked that one time he came in and you weren’t here. He even asked about you, and I told him you’re never here on Thursdays because of school.” She packs some ground coffee into the portafilter, slips it in place, and hits the button to start brewing a shot of espresso. “I’m just saying,” she singsongs as she reaches into the fridge under the counter for a gallon of milk, “he hasn’t come in on a Thursday since then.”

“That’s right,” Ingrid says with a nod. “Also, you said he complimented your shirt that one time.”

“Yeah, but in a really general way.” 

Ashe remembers that day so vividly. He’d handed Dedue his receipt—and he only knew the man’s name because he checked before running the credit card—and Dedue looked up at him and said, “The color of your sweater is quite striking.”

Ashe waited, with hopeful, bated breath, for the end of that sentence. For something like “on you” or “against your pretty complexion” or even “with your lovely hair.” But the sentence just… stopped. Ashe had stammered out an awkward thank you and then fled to the restroom to have a minor crisis over his complete lack of smoothness. Sylvain would’ve probably grinned and said something like, “Thanks, it reminds me of your eyes,” which it _had_ , and that was the whole reason Ashe bought the sea-glass-green sweater in the first place, but instead he’d flushed scarlet and practically run from the guy.

Groaning, Ashe says, “I have zero game whatsoever.”

None of his coworkers refute his statement—which, fair enough, they all know it’s true—but it makes him feel even worse.

Ashe groans again. “Besides, we’ve barely even talked. I greet him, he gives me his order, I deliver it, he thanks me very politely, and that’s it. Sometimes maybe he’ll comment on the weather or ask how I am, but it’s nothing more personal than my interactions with any other customer on any other day.”

“So you’re just going to pine from afar and subject us to your lovesick sighs for as long as he keeps coming here for lunch?” Ingrid asks critically. “If you want something, Ashe, you need to go for it. Life isn’t going to wait for you.” She turns on her heel. “I need to check on my tables.”

Sylvain finally releases Ashe, as if reminded of his own responsibilities. Annette gives Ashe a sympathetic smile—she knows all about unrequited pining, what with her enduring crush on the sword-obsessed guy with the perma-scowl who runs the dojo down the block—and flits off to deliver the cappuccino she’d made.

“Go get him, tiger,” Sylvain says, nudging Ashe. “Or at least bring him his bill, babe. He looks like he’s ready to go.”

Ashe peers out the window, and sure enough, Dedue’s plate is clear and he’s glancing around expectantly. He doesn’t tend to linger for any longer than it takes him to eat his meal—never sitting to read with a cup of tea or working on a laptop—and Ashe is usually on the ball and checking in constantly, so he’s probably curious about the aberration in Ashe’s behavior.

Ashe scrambles to print the bill, sticks it in the check holder, and rushes out to the patio. “Here you go,” he says, handing over the faux-leather folder. “Sorry for the wait. Did you need anything else? A fresh cup of tea, to-go?”

“No, thank you.”

Ashe waits while Dedue slips the credit card he had ready into the holder and accepts it when Dedue wordlessly returns it to him. “Thanks! Be right back with your receipt!”

The words come out so bright and cheerful Ashe cringes at himself as he turns around. Saints, he is such a nervous wreck around this guy. But can he help it? Nope.

Ashe goes to the only computer terminal out here on the patio to run the card and resists the urge to peek over his shoulder while he waits for it to process. It’s just… Dedue is so _handsome_. He keeps his white hair drawn into a ponytail, but the sides and back are shaved close. Ashe often thinks about running his fingers through those snowy strands, about whether or not they’d be soft to the touch, and he spends _way_ too much time fantasizing about how it might feel to do that while he lies, naked and satiated, across Dedue’s brawny chest.

And then there’s those eyes, such a different green than Ashe’s own. And that _body_. Dedue is tall, about a foot taller than Ashe, easy, and he’s clearly hiding muscles upon muscles under the simple lines of his plain black suits. His only nod to color is the teal, red, and gold scarf he wears around his neck on chillier days. It complements his deep brown skin amazingly, and the first time he saw Dedue wear it, Ashe wished he could knit so he could make him even _more_ scarves, in a vast array of rich, vibrant shades. All the warmth and brightness Dedue surely deserves.

Sweet goddess, Ashe wants to climb him like a tree… and then make him tea and savory soup with vegetables and tender chunks of meat and thick slices of soft, chewy bread, fresh from the oven and slathered with butter. Something hearty and filling to satisfy his every hunger.

Ashe sighs to himself and goes back to return Dedue’s card and give him his receipt. “Have a great day,” he says, instead of the things he longs to say. “See you next week.” 

Dedue smiles and dips his head, and Ashe leaves him to it, silently lamenting the fact that he’ll have to wait so long. Dedue only ever comes in once a week. Ashe imagines it’s probably hard for someone in the protection service to get time off when, from what he understands, the royal family needs to be guarded every minute, every hour, every day. Dedue probably only stops at Verona’s because of the its proximity to the palace. Still, sometimes Ashe likes to daydream that maybe, possibly, Dedue keeps coming back to see him too.

When he gets around to clearing the table after Dedue leaves, he finds something unexpected: two long-stemmed flowers lie across the check holder, bound together by a simple white ribbon. One is sunny yellow, one a deep, blushing pink. Ashe doesn’t recognize them, but the petals are paper thin and look like the ruffled skirt of a dress. He reaches out to touch one with a gentle finger, then jerks his head up to look around. Dedue is long gone, but these flowers must be for him, and Ashe can’t think of anyone else who would have left them. But why leave them like this instead of handing them to Ashe directly?

Dedue has always struck Ashe as rather taciturn. A man of few words and fewer smiles, who, nevertheless, remains unfailingly polite. But maybe it’s not reticence so much as shyness? Ashe is an amiable person by nature. He likes to chat, loves to hear people’s stories, and he’s never had a problem making small talk. But he knows that’s not the case for everyone, and Dedue seems like a quiet man. Had he left these behind, in secret, because he was too nervous to speak openly to Ashe?

Whatever the reason, it’s such a sweet gesture, and it gives Ashe such immense hope, he’s smiling giddily as he walks back into the restaurant with the flowers held to his chest.

“Ooh,” Annette says as he passes her by, “those are beautiful. What are they?”

“I don’t know,” Ashe admits, holding them out so she can get a better look. “Dedue left them for me.”

Annette squeals and grabs his arm to yank toward the coffee bar from which Ashe had been spying on Dedue earlier. They use the area to brew tea and make espresso for their dine-in customers, but also to provide counter service to people just stopping in to grab a warm drink and a quick sandwich or pastry. Right now, it’s empty, and Annette hustles him to the corner farthest from the nearest occupied table. “Tell me everything!”

“Well… there’s not much to tell. He didn’t give them to me personally. He left them on the check holder.” Ashe lifts the flowers to his nose and inhales. Surprisingly, they don’t have much of a scent. “What _are_ these, I wonder?”

“Oh, I know an app we can use. It identifies flowers and plants from pictures. Hang on.” Annette pulls out her smartphone, snaps a quick shot of the flowers, and then spends a couple of minutes clicking on the screen. “I think it’s these here,” she says finally. “There were a couple potential matches, but this one looks closest, right?” 

Ashe peers at the picture and nods. “Yep, that looks right. Ranunculus.” He tilts his head. “I’ve never heard of these.”

“You have.” Annette taps at the screen again. “They’re known as buttercups too.”

Ashe strokes a finger across one of the multi-layered blooms, the pink one. “All flowers have meanings, right? Do these mean anything special?” Or had Dedue picked them for their beauty alone?

Annette is silent for a beat. When Ashe looks up curiously, she’s grinning at him. “They mean _radiant charm_. You’d give them to someone you find charming and attractive. The colors can mean things too, it says. Pink symbolizes romance and gentle feelings. Yellow, happiness and joy. Oh, Ashe…” Annette brings her hand up to her mouth. “If he picked these on purpose, and it seems like he must have, then…”

“He likes me,” Ashe finishes, smiling as realization dawns. “He thinks I’m _charming_.” 

Laughing, Annette darts forward to hug him, careful not to crush the flowers he’s still holding. “You are charming! Ah, this is so romantic.”

“What is?” Sylvain drawls as he approaches. “Why are you two whispering in the corner? Annie, your two-top is asking for you.”

Annette lets Ashe go in a flash. “Oh, right!” She darts off, nearly tripping over nothing and only managing to save herself by slapping a hand down on the counter and knocking over a dish of sugar packets. “Sorry,” she says over her shoulder. “I’ll clean it up in a sec!”

Sighing, Sylvain rights the dish and starts putting the packets back in order. “That girl, I don’t know how she manages to be a server and not spill all over everyone.” He jerks his chin toward the flowers. “Where’d those come from?”

Ashe hasn’t stopped smiling. His cheeks are actually starting to ache at this point. “Dedue. He left them for me on the table.”

Sylvain raises his brows. “Oh? He made a move? Impressive.” He reaches out and gently strokes a petal between two long fingers. “I assume you and Annette were over here giggling because they mean something special?”

“They do.” Ashe nods. “He thinks I’m attractive. And charming!”

“Aww.” Sylvain tries to ruffle his hair, but Ashe ducks away with a laugh. “Well, you _are_ charming, cutie. What do I keep telling you?” He grins, and it’s a gorgeous grin that probably oozes more charm than Ashe has in his entire body. But beautiful as Sylvain is, he’s not the one Dedue left flowers for. 

“So what are you going to do about it?” Sylvain asks.

“I don’t know yet.”

What to give a man who works for Faerghus’s royal family and probably spends most of his time on private planes or in sumptuous suites, surrounded by luxury?

Ashe could simply thank him and say, “I like you too. Will you have dinner with me?” But it doesn’t seem like enough. Whatever he does, it should be thoughtful, romantic, something with a hidden meaning. Something that speaks as eloquently as the flowers.

“I have a week,” Ashe says, determined. “I’ll figure it out.” He has to.


	2. Blue Salvia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedue returns to Verona's and receives a surprise of his own.
> 
> \--
> 
> One of the prompts for day 4 of Ashedue Week 2020 was flowers. It seemed fitting to post this chapter today. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'll probably be clear from the context, but in this story, when Dedue uses the word "principal," he's referring to the royal he's tasked with protecting. I did a bit of research and read an interview with a former protection officer for the royal family in the UK, and he used the word a few times. I liked it. :)
> 
> Thanks to [dustofwarfare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare) for the beta read! <3

Many people would assume the role of royal protection officer is a distinguished, glamorous position—and it does have its benefits. Dedue Molinaro has stayed in the most lavish of exclusive resorts, dined at world-renowned restaurants, spent countless hours on private aircrafts and in luxury vehicles, met droves of wealthy celebrities and nearly every member of the nobility in the kingdom and beyond. And yet, what he would say if anyone asked him—which no one does—is that the reality of his job involves a lot of waiting.

Waiting for interviews to end, for appointments and meet-and-greets and charity events and extravagant weddings and ceremonial dinners. Dedue spends a great deal of time with his back to his wall and his eyes on a crowd—or on a walkway or a car or a stage or a line of windows offering way too many vantage points for a sniper with a grudge.

But if he told people about the waiting, they’d equate waiting to downtime, and that couldn’t be farther from the truth. His position requires constant vigilance and ceaseless preparations. Every situation needs planning down to the tiniest detail. There are no opportunities to let his mind wander—not when he’s expected to have backup plans for his backup plans. Dedue needs to know the layout of every room down to the smallest broom closet. He needs to know who’s where they should be, and more importantly, who _isn’t_ where they should be. He needs to manage the schedule to the microsecond, and he needs to account for any and all emergencies and contingencies. There’s not even a minute to let his thoughts drift. Not when the lives of the royal family, and more specifically, the life of his principal, Crown Prince Dimitri, are at stake.

That does not, however, mean it’s always easy to keep his attention where it should be. Dedue strives for perfection because he’s the youngest of the royal protection officers, and beyond that, he loves and admires His Highness Dimitri as his nearest and dearest friend, and he would be devastated to let any harm befall him. But even for someone as vigilant and dedicated as Dedue, it’s difficult not to relax a fraction when they’re in the heart of the palace, surrounded by fellow officers, guard dogs, and security cameras, in a place where the prince and the others are least likely to be harmed and have the freedom to move about at will. Of course, that freedom comes with a price—the knowledge that, outside of the bedrooms and bathrooms, there are eyes and ears everywhere. From cradle to grave, the members of the royal family are watched, and by now, it’s as normal for them as breathing. Though some accept it with a bit more grace than others.

As serious and earnest as he is, Prince Dimitri is the one who chafes least at the constant surveillance. He respects that those around him have their own tasks to accomplish and duties to fulfill, and he lets them do their jobs without complaint. His step-sister, Princess Edelgard, on the other hand, always has quite a bit to say about the lack of privacy and how the monarchy should be abolished, despite its constitutional role and lack of any true power of its own in their modern society.

Dedue finds it ironic, though he won’t dare admit this to anyone else, that for all her criticism of the monarchy and the nobility, who she claims are undeserving of their inherited wealth, she has yet to abandon her suites in the palace or give up use of the royal jets or refuse her monthly stipend. A tad hypocritical, in his opinion, but it’s not his place to say such things. And, truth be told, she does raise a good point or two on occasion. Dedue’s family didn’t come from wealth, and he is sometimes astounded by the sheer excess he’s seen on display during his time serving the Blaiddyds.

Now, he’s listening to Princess Edelgard rant as the royal family has dinner with some of their closest acquaintances and friends. It’s a private affair on a quiet Sunday evening, and Dedue’s brain keeps threatening to tune out the conversation entirely. He keeps half of his attention on His Highness Dimitri, who looks somewhat pained, although Dedue can tell he’s trying valiantly to maintain his decorum and regal smile, and half of his attention on the room at large. Across from Dedue, Byleth, the officer who serves as Prince Dimitri’s secondary guard—and the primary whenever Dedue is off or unavailable—looks on, blank-faced and unreadable as ever.

With Byleth there, who Dedue knows will lay down his life for His Highness without thought or hesitation, and the other protection officers positioned throughout the dining hall, Dedue is tempted, _briefly_ , to let his mind wander to Verona’s and Ashe and what he hopes will happen during lunch tomorrow. Then Edelgard’s voice rises as she gets particularly impassioned about something or other, and Dedue straightens his already rigid shoulders.

No. He’ll save thoughts of lovely, adorable Ashe for later. For now, back to scanning the room and resisting the urge to hustle Prince Dimitri off to his chambers so he can rest. Between his studies at the university and his responsibilities as crown prince, His Highness’s schedule is always packed to the brim, and he never says no to adding another burden. Prince Dimitri likes to please those around him, but eventually the obliging aspect of his personality wears him thin, and that’s when Dedue, and occasionally Byleth, are left to pick up the pieces. They’re the only two who ever see His Highness in his moments of weakness, and Dedue suspects it isn’t enough, that Prince Dimitri needs someone else or something neither he nor Byleth can provide, but Dedue isn’t there to try to counsel the prince, and besides, His Highness gets upset whenever Dedue even attempts to do so. _“I’m fine,”_ he’ll insist. _“Do not concern yourself over me.”_ What he fails to understand is that he is and always will be one of Dedue’s biggest concerns—out of both the obligations of his position and his loyalty as a friend.

Dedue remains watchful until, finally, the dinner is over. Those who’ll be staying in the palace adjourn to their rooms for the night. The others depart. Dedue sees His Highness settled in his suite, parts ways with Byleth, who’ll be the primary officer assigned to Dimitri over the next twenty-four hours Dedue has off, and then leaves the palace for his modest apartment across the city. Dedue spends very little time there—when he’s on duty, he’s expected to be either with His Highness or on the grounds at all times—but he needs this little haven to escape to, away from prying eyes and gilded furniture and expensive paintings and tapestries that never fail to remind Dedue of his own humble upbringing.

He knows he was fortunate to attain his position at a much younger age than most of the other officers in the protection service. This is something he owes to Prince Dimitri himself, due to His Highness’s recommendation after the time they served together in the royal army. At twenty-six, only a few years older than the prince, Dedue is the youngest officer on staff, though he suspects, despite his somewhat ageless appearance, Byleth can’t be more than perhaps thirty. Typically, the people promoted to the royal protection service work as police officers for at least ten years before such a promotion becomes possible. Some of the older staff resent Dedue for bypassing that step, but that matters very little to him. He cares only about protecting His Highness and those Prince Dimitri holds dear. Dedue doesn’t need friends—or so he tries to tell himself, when the nights in his small apartment feel especially lonely.

If it were true, that he didn’t need anyone or anything, aside from his role at Prince Dimitri’s side, why would he have felt compelled to leave the buttercups for Ashe?

Dedue isn’t much for talking. He doesn’t consider himself to be especially well-spoken. No one had ever—or would ever—call him silver-tongued or a great orator. He’s a quiet man with simple needs. His only companions in the apartment are his plants, those that only require water once a week or in some cases, once a month. Tiny succulents along the windowsills, bromeliads, peace lilies, a snake plant, and a few cacti. He needs the greenery, the comfort of growing, living things to tend to. If he were around more, he’d have a veritable garden, but as it is, he loves each and every one. They all have names, and he greets them and speaks to them softly as he walks through the rooms, checking their soil, gently touching their leaves or spines.

He changes into more comfortable clothing, makes his own dinner—coconut chicken curry over basmati rice—and settles onto the couch in his living room with a book. But now, of course, that his thoughts are free to wander, he can’t keep his focus on the words on the page. Instead he remembers Ashe, his eyes the green of new spring leaves, his freckles and the pretty way he blushes, his sweet, soft voice.

Dedue wishes he found it easy to just strike up a conversation with Ashe, that he didn’t need to let the flowers speak for him. Ashe is always cheerful, a spot of bright sunshine amid long, endless weeks. Dedue had been drawn to him since the first time he ever set foot in Verona’s, almost half a year ago. To claim it was love at first is too fanciful a notion for a man as pragmatic as himself, but… Dedue supposes it was close enough. Attraction and interest, at the very least, and whenever he has a moment of privacy, Dedue thinks of little else. All he really knows about Ashe is where he works and that he’s taking classes at the university. He wants to know more. So much more. The food Ashe enjoys, his hopes and dreams, if he thinks of Dedue the way Dedue thinks of him, the way he might look, naked and flushed, against the teal green of Dedue’s cotton sheets.

Dedue doesn’t indulge in those fantasies very often, but he can’t help but think of it, from time to time, especially the days when Ashe blushes and stammers and Dedue suspects that, quite possibly, his pining for Ashe might not be entirely one-sided.

What had Ashe thought of the buttercups? He’ll find out tomorrow, he supposes. He’ll be going to Verona’s for lunch, as is his routine, after a quick stop at his favorite florist to pick up his next gift for Ashe.

Dedue falls asleep imagining it, and spends the morning growing more and more anxious. Perhaps Ashe didn’t look up the meaning, perhaps he doesn’t know, even now, what the ranunculus were meant to convey. Once again, Dedue wishes for eloquence, but the language of flowers may as well be his mother tongue. He speaks it more fluently than the language here in Faerghus, even these many years after leaving home.

Despite his nerves, which he hides well enough no one would know to look at him, he stops at the florist to pick up his offering and makes his way to Verona’s. He takes his seat on the outdoor patio—with spring creeping slowly into summer, it’s warm enough—sets the box containing the three blooms next to his chair, and waits.

Ashe is there almost immediately, his cheeks tinged pink beneath his freckles and smiling sweetly. “Good afternoon,” he says. “I… Thank you, for the flowers.”

“Good afternoon,” Dedue returns Ashe’s greeting with his own, much more reserved, smile. “You’re welcome. I hope they were to your liking?”

“Very much! They were lovely.” Ashe fiddles with the edge of his apron, opens his mouth as if to say more, and then closes it again. “Um. Are you ready to order? We just got more of that ginger tea you like.”

“Yes. A cup of that, please. Iced, I think. It is warm enough today.” Dedue considers for a moment. “And the vegetable stir-fry.”

“Coming right up!” Ashe chirps, and he’s gone before Dedue can say anything else.

He liked the flowers, then. A positive sign. And he seemed to want to say more. Maybe, like Dedue, he’s nervous.

Ashe delivers his drink a couple minutes later, but doesn’t linger. Dedue can feel his gaze, though, through the window near the coffee bar, and smothers a pleased, secret smile. The fact that Ashe watches him is the primary reason he finally worked up the courage to buy the buttercups. It is encouraging, if nothing else, the idea that Ashe might appreciate the look of him.

When Ashe returns with his food, he hesitates again, as if wanting to speak, but then just offers Dedue a smile and tells him to enjoy his meal.

Dedue does enjoy it, as he always does, and feels the weight of his nerves easing under a sense of anticipation. Ashe wants to say something to him, that much is apparent, and he’s not behaving as if whatever he wishes to say is a bad thing or a rejection. Dedue feels hopeful, and that hope only increases when Ashe eventually brings him his receipt at the end of his meal. Ashe is holding a reusable tote bag in his free hand, and he nods to the seat across from Dedue. “May I join you for a few minutes?”

“Of course.”

Ashe takes a seat and licks his lips before sitting up a little straighter. “I really did love the flowers, and I looked up what they mean.” He smiles and he’s blushing again and his green eyes are shining—and oh, he’s so lovely Dedue wishes he had permission to reach out and cup his cheek, to run his thumb across that smattering of freckles and feel the heat in his skin. “All week I thought about what I could give you in return.” He holds up the canvas tote bag. “I made you Daphnel stew. I thought, based on what you usually order here, it would be something you’d enjoy, and I wanted it to be something comforting and filling. But then…” Ashe sets the bag down on the tabletop. “I worried it wasn’t enough. That I couldn’t put my feelings into a meal I prepared and that my meaning wouldn’t come across. So…” He reaches into the bag and withdraws two carnations—one pink, one light red. “I got you these. I thought maybe I should reply in the language you spoke to me.” He holds them across the table, and his face must be burning now, for how intensely he’s blushing, but to Dedue, he’s never looked lovelier. “Light red for admiration, and pink for gratitude.” He laughs softly. “At least I hope I got that right?”

Stunned, Dedue reaches for the carnations. He honestly didn’t expect to receive anything in return, except maybe some conversation. He hoped the flowers would provide an opening to get to know Ashe better. But this? Dedue can’t remember the last time anyone gave him a gift, save for Prince Dimitri, not since his mother and sister passed away.

Dedue digs deep for his voice and manages to find the words to say, “Thank you. You are correct, as far as I know. Admiration and gratitude.”

“Gratitude for the buttercups,” Ashe says, “and for finding a way to say something when I couldn’t. I… I find you attractive, too.” He laughs again, and this time it’s embarrassed. “I think you might know that already, what with my window staring. But I wanted to let you know, I’m interested, if you are. Um… If that’s what you meant, with the pink one.”

Dedue chuckles softly. “I did.”

“I’m glad. I was hoping.” Ashe’s grin crinkles his eyes at the corners. “I only have one question, I guess? Why didn’t you give me the flowers yourself? Why did you leave them on the table?”

“I… am not skilled at making conversation,” Dedue admits. “I do not always know how to say what I need to, or how to describe what I’m feeling. It is… difficult, for me.”

Ashe nods thoughtfully. “I wondered if that was it. Well, good news for you is I’m a bit awkward myself. I can talk people’s ears off, maybe to the point where they wish I’d shut up sometimes.”

“I doubt that. You have a soothing voice.” Dedue hesitates, and adds, “I would enjoy hearing it more often.”

Ashe bows his head, but he’s still smiling. “I'd enjoy you hearing it more often, too. Very much.”

“I also have something for you.” Dedue leans down for the box he brought and hands it across the table.

“Oh…” Ashe undoes the purple ribbon from the box and sets it aside with great care. When he lifts the lid and sees the flowers nestled inside, he gasps. “These are beautiful.” His eyes flash up. “What are they?”

“Blue salvia. They mean… thinking of you.” Dedue clears his throat. “As I do. Frequently.”

Ashe presses a fingertip to one of the tiny, deep-blue petals. “I’m drying the other ones. I have them hanging in my bedroom.” He bites his lip, staring down at the flowers, and his expression is so openly happy, Dedue’s heart thuds harder in his chest. “I wanted to be able to keep them forever.” When he meets Dedue’s gaze, he adds, “I’ll dry these, too.”

“I am glad to hear that, and I would be doubly glad if you allowed me to take you to dinner.”

Ashe’s smile broadens. “When?”

“Tonight,” Dedue says, bolder than he would normally be, but he doesn’t want to wait another week to see Ashe again. “If you are available.”

Ashe laughs joyfully. “I am. I get off at six.”

“And I will be here.”

“Can’t wait.” Ashe reaches across the table to touch the top of his hand. “I’d better get back to work.” He stands, collecting the box of blue salvia. “Thanks for the flowers.”

Dedue picks up the carnations from where they rest next to his empty plate. “Thank you as well.”

Ashe takes a step back and for a moment, he just stares. Then he shakes his head and chuckles at himself. “Don’t forget your stew.”

“I would never,” Dedue tells him, utterly serious.

Ashe flashes him another smile. “See you at six,” he says before dashing off.

Dedue lifts the carnations to his nose and takes a delicate sniff, pressing the petals to his lips. “And not a moment later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written Dedue's POV before. I hope I did him justice! It's also my first time writing Ashedue, and I'm having a lot of fun with them. <3 This was originally meant to be three chapters, but since I haven't been able to write the third, and I think it works with just the two, I'm changing the status to complete.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments welcomed and appreciated. 
> 
> Find me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/MxTicketyBoo).


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